


Messy

by Erisabesu (ErisabesuFic)



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: 8018, Angst, Complicated Relationships, Drama, Exes, M/M, past 8059
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23930992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErisabesuFic/pseuds/Erisabesu
Summary: “Yamamoto and Gokudera sit opposite the Tenth in the Vongola headquarters when the call comes in, confirming the names of the traitors who need to be sent a message.”
Relationships: Gokudera Hayato & Yamamoto Takeshi, Hibari Kyouya/Yamamoto Takeshi, Sawada Tsunayoshi & Vongola Tenth Generation Guardians
Comments: 12
Kudos: 38





	Messy

**“Messy”**

♦

Yamamoto and Gokudera sit opposite the Tenth in the Vongola headquarters when the call comes in, confirming the names of the traitors who need to be sent a message. One glance into Tsuna’s pained, determined eyes and they know what to do. Yamamoto slings his sword-case behind his shoulder and smiles a salute on the way out, following Gokudera outside and into the garage. He slips into Gokudera’s passenger seat as the custom engine revs. Gokudera zigs out the back of the Vongola estate and takes the shortest cut into the seediest area of town.

They had sex in this car, once. Hot hands, smoke, adrenaline, distant moans of the sea, scraped skin, a cut lip, a gearshift bruise in the small of Yamamoto’s back that took weeks to fade, and another six months before Gokudera could look him in the eye again. 

That was the last time. Yamamoto leans back in the seat, calm, knees touching the glove box. Gokudera kills the radio when they’re half a mile from the red light district. He parks three streets away. Outside of the car they make eye contact—it’s entirely too quiet here for this time of night. Together they slip through the shadows, eyes sweeping along the ground and up windows to fire escapes and ridged rooftops when the sounds of a disturbance filter back from the only alley wide enough for a vehicle. They both pause, listening. 

Something about the sounds in the air is familiar; Yamamoto’s pulse quickens. He scans the parked cars beside them, and confirms with his palm that the hood of the black sedan with tinted windows is still warm. Then he nudges Gokudera’s elbow to get his attention. Gokudera shoots him a frown. Yamamoto drums his fingers along the car’s sleek contours, leaving fingerprints he’ll probably be punished for later. 

Gokudera’s eyes flash, understanding exactly what the presence of this car means. He curses under his breath and takes his time lighting a cigarette; there’s no longer any need to rush. He exhales into the night before they continue on through the alley’s gaping, twisted mouth, this time Yamamoto in the lead. 

Something groans from between two trash bins. Another form is crumpled in a doorway. From the placement and quantity of the bodies it’s not hard to trace where the brawl began, nor is it hard to find where it will end further up ahead. Yamamoto and Gokudera duck out of sight behind what’s left of a window in back of a closed-down factory building, watching the dark alley, just a few stained panes of glass to separate them from the noises of the last of Hibari’s prey enduring the final moments of his life.

Hibari holds the man upright by what’s left of his shirt collar and plows the other fist down into nose, cheek, jawbone, _bam-bam-bam_. The man’s head lolls; at least one tooth spills onto the asphalt in a spray of dark liquid as Hibari drops him to the ground, and then pulls his leg back to kick him in the gut. Again, and then again. Brutal. Exact.

Behind the old factory glass both of them flinch, but neither guardian looks away. 

Gokudera takes a last long drag of his cigarette and flicks the butt to his left, away from Yamamoto. He puts a clean one between his lips, lights up, and twirls his lighter back into his suit pocket before breaking the silence.

“ _That’s_ the best you can do?” There’s no mistaking the disapproval in Gokudera’s voice. Or the anger. “Get a fucking clue already. You’re just wasting your time.”

Yamamoto glances to the side, noting how Gokudera’s shoulders seem to relax once the words are out. Like he’s wanted to say this for a long time.

The irony stings.

Yamamoto settles on a noncommittal, “Is that so?” 

The noises outside stop; Hibari has finished. Gokudera scowls. His green eyes shift down to the littered floor, then up again to the lone silhouette standing still in a pool of what could be glistening motor oil, but isn’t. 

From the way Hibari straightens his necktie, Yamamoto can sense the satisfied smile on his lips. Hibari passes them by without acknowledgement, his profile splattered with the blood of the night’s deeds. But he knows they’re there. Hibari _always_ knows.

Gokudera snuffs his unfinished cigarette with a twist of fingers. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re free to do whatever you want. But the Tenth worries. That’s all.”

Yamamoto watches Gokudera’s ringed left hand push through his messy hair with a twinge of nostalgia, then moves for the doorway.

“Tell Tsuna I said thanks,” Yamamoto says, before stepping out into the alley and jogging after Hibari.

When he catches up, he finds Hibari leaning against the black sedan with arms crossed, radiating menace. 

Yamamoto slows down, meeting Hibari’s eyes. Hibari opens the passenger door, throwing the keys to Yamamoto before climbing inside. 

They had sex in this car once. A private garage, spilled coffee, hungry kisses, half clothed bodies sprawled in the front seat, in the back seat, hands braced on sweat-slicked leather, knees bruising ribs, teeth marks in skin, hours cocooned within the scent of fresh snow and a full moon.

That was the first time. Yamamoto slides into the driver’s seat and maneuvers the car effortlessly out of the area and onto the highway. “Your place or mine?”

Hibari closes his eyes, no less dangerous than ever. “You have twenty minutes.”

Yamamoto grins, gunning the engine, passing through traffic in a woven blur of taillights and exhaust.

—

Ω

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on twitter, come say hi! ♥ 
> 
> [@erisabesu3](https://twitter.com/erisabesu3) :D


End file.
